


Don't Take my Sunshine Away

by eliot



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Boys Kissing, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliot/pseuds/eliot
Summary: Papillon and Louis Dega are living near NYC after escaping Devil's Island. Dega has embraced his artistic side, and Papillon is working at a restaurant. A mundane life is what they wanted, but now that they have it everything else is sinking in.A light is constantly on, music is constantly playing. There's never a moment of silence or darkness in their life.One night a storm hits the city and their power goes out. The darkness crawls in, and the silence settles.Dega is overcome with trauma and Papillon has to calm him.





	1. The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, I haven't read any Papillon fanfics. This is the first one I'm writing, so this may be a bit out of character than other people's stories.

Dega sits at the blurry window, watching the water droplets drag down the glass. It’s raining hard, the sight and sound of it causes the hair on the back of Dega’s neck stand up. He can faintly smell salt water and he closes his eyes. He tries the breathing exercises that Papillon taught him.

_In…._

_Out…._

_In…._

_Out…._

_In…._

His chair begins to sway and rock, he can feel his skin dry, his lips crack, his eyes ache. His socks feel wet, the noise of water is drowning his mind, the smell is too powerf-

“Louis?”

Dega opens his eyes with an audible exhale. He was holding his breath. He doesn’t turn his head, he doesn’t need to. He knows Papillon is there behind him. He must be shaking, because Papi puts a sobering hand on his shoulder.

“Louis,” Papillon says again, this time more firm, concern is tainting his voice; Papillon only calls Dega his first name when it’s serious. “Are you alright?”

Dega cracks a weak smile and gives him a slight nod, before looking over his shoulder. “Mm, yes. I’m alright. I’m sorry I worried you. It’s-”

“Raining. Yes, I know,” Papi cuts him off. “You need to walk around, remind your legs that you’re on land now, Louis.” Papillon holds his hand out and smiles when Dega takes it and stands up, “music?”

Dega shakes his head, “No. Not yet, I want to listen to the rain.”

“Loui-”

“I said not yet, Papi!” Dega snaps then drops his hand. “I-I’m sorry. I just want to listen. Please,” his voice breaks and so does their eye contact. “The rain will last for a while, I need to get used to it. You understand.”

Papillon nods, “Alright. I’ll make us dinner, you walk around.”

 

The next hour goes by slow. Dega walks around the apartment, dragging his fingertips along the wall, feeling the vibrations coming from the building. He would do this on Devil’s Island, except there were no vibrations, it was still and silent. While Dega had thought he enjoyed the quiet, when they arrived to NYC he realized he only liked it better to the constant yelling and slamming of shovels & hammers. Now that he has the freedom of noise, he hates the silence. Dega wasn’t ever put into solitary, so he can never imagine how much Papillon hates the silence, but it’s an agreement between them that there would be as little silence in their life as possible. If they had to talk every second of the day, that was fine. Just, no more silence.

“Papi?” Dega calls as he drags his feet towards the kitchen. “Music now?” He places his chin on Papillon’s shoulder, and a hand on his waist. “Sinatra?” Dega teased with a grin.

“Oh you know I hate that, Dega,” Papillon laughs. He drains the pasta into a colander.

“Only because I play him so much, I do catch you moving your legs to the music. But, fine. How about something I don’t think you’ve heard, then?” Dega pulls away, squeezing Papi’s waist. “Though, I think you’ll hate this one even more,” Dega walks over to their record player and pulls a used record from it’s sleeve. He sets it up and it begins to play.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine._

_You make me happy when skies are grey…_

 

“Oh fuck off,” Papillon calls from the kitchen, his deep laugh spilling into the living area. “Go back to Sinatra, anything, Dega.”

“I like this song. It was on sale, and it’s calming. It also fits today’s mood, I think…” Dega hums along and slightly dances his way to the table, watching his man make their plates of pasta with red sauce. “You know, I think I have enough art to sell. People have been buying at the markets. I think I have enough to sell for us to finally buy the restaurant from your boss. What do you think? The finances are in order, you have your friend who can help us legally.. Well, illegally, get it without trouble with the law.”

Papillon sets their plates down before sitting down himself, “It’s only been 16 months, Dega. You can’t even be around knives, yet without shaking. How will we run a restaurant?” He shakes his head and sighs before shoveling a large forkful of pasta into his mouth.

Dega pauses and messes with his pasta, “Well, I obviously won’t cook. That’s your job. Why do you think you always make our meals?” He smiles and takes a bite, “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to want to stab anyone.” Dega was trying to pass it off as a joke, but the tension in the words was obvious.

“Oh, trust me. There will be plenty of customers and employee’s that will piss you off, Dega.” Papillon looks down at Dega’s forearm, when they first settled in New York Dega had made it very clear he wanted a tattoo. He said he wanted to be reminded of what happened, to remind himself of what he had became so he wouldn’t turn to that again. So, he got a dagger on his forearm. To remind him of the life he took, to remind him of the darkness that lurked in him, to remind him of who he can’t become again.

 

_I dreamed I held you in my arms_

_When I awoke dear, I was mistaken-_

 

Dega followed Papi’s eyes down to his forearm. “Why are you so worried about me? You went through worse things than me, Papillon.” Dega didn’t mean to get upset, but he wasn’t as fragile as Papillon thought. “We have to have a light on at all times for christ’s sake. I’m not the only weak one here, Papi-”

 

_SNAP_

Their eyes met, widened.

_BOOM_

 

The lights all shut off, the music died. Silence and darkness enveloped them. Dega dropped his silverware and reached out for Papillon, their hands crashing into one another, they were both reaching out.

“Papi”

“Louis”


	2. Lost at sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dega is transported back to the boat, unable to tell what's reality until Papillon snaps him out of it. He's got a wound on his head and Papillon tends to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! I hope you're enjoying this so far... I'd love any comments and critiques!

The floor is suddenly the sea, and what was once the table and chairs is now the boat. There are no walls around him, only sky and storm. Dega can taste the salt water and smell the blood mixed with rain all around him. Looking all around him, he can feel his breathing escalate.

Dega staggers to stand and tries to grab onto something to steady himself, but the walls aren’t there, its just air. He tries to take a deep breath but water slams against his body and he’s on the ground. The floor won’t stop swaying and slamming him against the side of the boat. The sound of metal against his head is deafening, almost louder than the thunder. “Papillon?” His voice is weak and scratchy, “Papi?” 

 

The sky is black, the hair on his body is practically standing up from the electricity in the air. He’s surprised that he hasn’t combusted yet. He’s alone again, but this time he’s alone at sea instead of Devil’s island. He isn’t sure what’s worse, being alone on an island you can’t escape or being alone at sea with a chance of ending up on the shore of some island or continent. Probably the latter. Who wants to die alone at sea when you can die surrounded by people you can’t even talk to?

These flashbacks have happened before. Though, usually they stop after a few minutes. This one seems likes it’s gone on for hours. His skin is wet but dry from the salt, he can taste the blood in his mouth from his sun-dried and cracked lips. Iron is his least favorite taste, he’s tasted and smelled it far too much for his own liking.

 

Dega looks down at his forearm, expecting his dagger tattoo to be there, but instead there’s an actual knife in his hand. He blinks fast and sits up, head slamming against the table. “Shit!”  For a moment he’s back in the pitch black apartment. Putting his fingers to his head wound, he looks at them finding them bloody. The blood transports him back to the ship, except this time there’s a body. Celier’s body is sprawled out on his stomach. There’s stab wounds in his back, his shirt is now red, no longer white. The water at the bottom of the boat is mostly blood, the smell is too strong. Dega groans and rolls to his side, vomiting up what was in his stomach. He’s light headed, groggy, out of body. He forces his weak body to sit up and he leans against the back of the boat. Dega tilts his head back and looks up at the pitch dark sky, letting the rain pelt his face like bullets.

His eyes close for what feels like a mere second, but when he opens them there’s butterflies around him. Blue, purple, red, and black butterflies surround him and the boat. Their wings and flapping in unison, the sound grows, the vibrations shake Dega’s body. It’s so violent, it’s almost as if-

 

“DEGA!” Papillon shouts, shaking Dega’s shoulders almost violently. “Dega snap out of it!!” Papillon has tears on his cheeks, they’re only visible when lightning lights the room for a second or two. “Please, Dega.”

The water and ship around Dega disappear and he’s looking into Papillon’s eyes. Were his eyes open the entire time? “What happened” his voice was too raspy, he tries again. “Papillon, what happened?”

“I don’t know. The lights shut off and you just, you were moving like it wasn’t you. You were on the floor, then you hit your head, puked, and I helped you sit against the wall. Are you alright? I need to get you some ice for your cut,” Papillon put his fingers gently to the split open welt on Dega’s head. “You might need stitches, Dega.”

Dega closes his eyes again and winces from the pain of Papillon’s fingers on his wound. “No, don’t leave yet. Just stay here for a moment,” he drags his fingers to the tattoo on Papillon’s jugular notch. “There were butterflies… all around me and Celier... I was on the boat. I was actually on the boat, Papi!” His voice is trembling, “He was there, he was dead, I killed him again. Except this time you weren't there. I killed him for no reason, because you weren’t there.” Dega traces his fingertips over the butterfly tattoo, he knows it by heart, he has drawn it probably a hundred times. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

“Yes, he’s dead. You killed him, Louis. But, if you didn’t he would have killed me. Then he would have killed you,” Papillon held Dega’s face. “Come now, walk with me and we will find the candles. I’ll stitch your head up and we can go lay down. We can ride this storm out like we’ve done many times. We are safe, Louis.” Papillon’s voice is gentle, laced with concern… and fear. Dega nods and let’s Papillon help him up.

 

They slept in the same bed. They had to, they had spent so much time together at sea that it just felt wrong to not sleep next to one another. Papillon had also spent so much time in isolation that he needed to have a body next to him in the dark, or the deafening silence and ringing in his ears would creep back in.

They do nothing more than that and their usual signs of affection, though. They’re both very affectionate, but Dega always brushes it off as Papillon just being comfortable with himself and with Dega. Dega however, loves Papillon. It’s hard to not love him. 

 

Papillon helps Dega to their bedroom, making him sit against the headboard. “Stay here, I’ll be right back with the candle and stitches,” walking away he traces his fingers along the walls. 

The first couple weeks, they spent their nights walking throughout the apartment, feeling every inch of the walls and floors so that they could memorize them in case something like this happened. It was Papillon’s idea. He did spend most of his time in solitary walking the small space of his cell, walking helps him focus and think. Papillon has to constantly be moving now, it drives Dega crazy sometimes, but other times it’s a joy to watch.

Dega knows Papi told him to wait, but Dega never has listened. So, he slowly swings his legs over the edge of the bed. His leg is aching terribly, so he stumbles a bit when he stands up. He drags his feet over to his desk and grabs his art journal and some charcoal pencils. The pounding in his head is more prominent now, “Papi?” Dega sighs and keeps his eyes open, even though all he wants to do is close them for a few seconds. He doesn’t want to risk the chance of going back to the ship, “Bring something to drink. This pain isn’t going to go away by itself, and I’m certainly not going to let you just put ice on this. We need something on the ice,” He huffs out a chuckle and nods before dragging his heavy body back to the bed.

Papillon enters the room, candle and whiskey in one hand, the med kit in the other. “You read my mind,” His deep voice rumbles as he climbs onto the bed and sets everything down. Papillon lights the candle, putting it on the bedside table next to Dega, before opening the whiskey bottle and taking a bit swig. “Mm, this should warm us for the night, here. Drink some of this while I get the stitches ready.”

Dega takes the bottle, their fingers brushing, and drinks a large gulp of the whiskey. “I much prefer wine, but you’ve turned me onto whiskey,” Dega laughs and then makes a pained face, god, laughing hurts his head. “Alright, let’s get this over with quick,” watching Papi’s hands get everything ready, he smiles fondly. “You’re a good man, Papillon. Still don’t know why you keep me around,” Dega teased.

“No one else can put up with me, that’s why,” Papillon teases back before coating a washcloth with some of the whiskey. “Hold still,” he places it over Dega’s wound and wipes the blood away gently.

“Is that the only reason?” Dega jokes and winces when the alcohol hits his open wound.

“No, it’s not.” Papillon’s eyes meet Dega’s. They stay like that for a few seconds before Papillon clears his throat, “I also quite enjoy your art. How can I not? You’re constantly drawing me.” He smiles warmly and nods, “Okay, this is gonna hur-”

“Shit!!” Dega hissed and closed his eyes. He bites his lip and puts a hand on Papillon’s knee, squeezing it. “Don’t make me ugly,” he groaned, “The artist has to look as good as the art, and I’m looking quite worse for wear.”

Papillon rolled his eyes, “I’m an expert at this, Dega. I stitch all my wounds, and they’re barely visible.” Moving the needle in and out of the wound carefully, he stuck a bit of his tongue out in concentration.

“I wish you could have done the ones on my back, those ones are...not the best,” Dega mumbles, rubbing his thumb over Papi’s knee, subconsciously distracting himself. “They caused a lot of issues too…” Dega opens his eyes and looks at Papi, “I’m sorry, Papillon… For that. For what happened. I know I apologized before, but. I am deeply and dearly sorry, for getting you put into solit-”

“Shh, Louis.” Papillon finishes the last stitch and places the supplies on the bedside table, grabbing the washcloth again and cleaning the wound once more. “There. All done, and I must say that it’s my best work,” Papillon grins, the candle light reflecting in his deep blue eyes.

Dega breathes deeply before taking another big swig of whiskey, “We might need to grab another bottle from the kitchen. I feel like this will go fast,” he licks a stray droplet from his mouth before running a hand through his messy hair. “Thank you, dear friend. You are a good companion,” Dega giggles and drinks some more.

Papillon takes the bottle from him, “Woah there, you’re already getting a bit buzzed. Save some for me, this is my favourite. Glenlivet.” Papillon drinks a couple gulps, “It took a lot of work to steal this.”

Dega laughs then winces, “Oh? I thought you were done stealing, naughty.”

“A thief never quits. Not as long as I have this tattoo, and there’s no way to cover this tattoo. Once a thief always a thief, my friend.” Papillon winks and laughs, “See? This isn’t so bad. You may have split your head open, but at least we have some fucking amazing whiskey.” He moves to relax against the headboard next to Dega. “Did you draw at all today?”

Dega watches him move, admiring the way his muscles move. Dega’s bones and insides felt warm. He is getting a little tipsy, he doesn’t mind though, it’s helping the pain and nerves that he’s suddenly feeling. “No, I was looking through our finances and all my art to see which ones I could sell. Then, I sat down to rest my leg and got distracted by the rain… You came home after that.”

“You haven’t shown me any pieces in a while. I’d love to see,” Papi looks at him, admiring Dega’s features in the dim, warm candle light. 

 

Dega’s skin is already quite warm, but the candle light just makes it even more so. Papillon finds Dega beautiful, it seems like Dega is always smiling even when he’s really not. The color of his eyes are hard to make out, Papillon can never tell if they’re blue, green, or maybe just a grey. They often change based on what colors are around Dega. Sometimes when Dega is wearing this purple shirt, that Papillon loves, and it makes Dega’s eyes have a hint of purple in them. It makes the rest of his features pop out. God, He’s starting to sound like Dega when he describes things.

 

Dega hums, “Alright, let me grab them. I’ll show you the newest ones, and maybe if you get enough drink in me I’ll show you the old ones I haven’t shown you.” Dega slowly gets up, grabs the whiskey bottle and downs some more, handing it back to Papi. He limps over to his desk and searches through the drawers, grabbing two brown folders. His new works and the old secret ones. Looking over his shoulder, he can feel his heart thump louder. These are his intimate drawings, but tonight is an intimate night, he supposes.


	3. Loose Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter 1 and 2 in Papillon's perspective. Some things may repeat word for word just to keep the continuity, but it will be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter it will go back to Dega's perspective.

Papillon unlocks the door and walks into the apartment, he expects to be welcomes by Dega right away, like usual. This time, there’s no welcome, no noise at all except for some deep inhales & exhales and the rain.

“Louis?” Papillon says gently. There’s no response, so he puts a hand on Dega’s shoulder. Dega usually knows Papillon is serious whenever he calls him by his first name, it’s why he saves it for serious moments like this. “Louis, are you alright?” He asks, concerned. Dega isn’t the loudest man, but he’s usually very talkative when Papillon comes home.

Papillon’s eyes drag to the window, noticing the rain. Oh. It’s the storm, it’s triggering Dega. Neither one of them has had an episode in a couple weeks, things have been smooth sailing. Heh. He looks back down at Dega, feeling some relief when he sees Dega smiling, and nodding.

“Mm, yes. I’m alright. I’m sorry I worried you. It’s-”

Papillon cuts him off, “Raining. Yes, I know…” He thinks for a moment, Dega needs to be distracted. “You need to walk around, remind your legs that you’re on land now, Louis.”

 

Papillion hates when Dega is stuck in his head, in his memories. It always makes Papillon worry to no end. Last time this happened Dega hadn’t eaten for days, he had accidentally cut Papillon with a letter opener while he went to turn to tell him something.

He hadn’t been cut deep, but there was blood. As soon as Dega had seen the blood he shut down, his eyes had gone blank. It was the worst thing Papillon had seen. He likes how bright Dega’s eyes are, he always gets caught in them. So, seeing that the light behind them was gone, it made his entire being ache.

 

Papillon holds his hand out, trying to not let it shake. “Music?” He asks, music is always playing in their home. Neither of them likes the silence, especially Papillon. Papillon had spent many years in isolation. He didn’t want to spend anymore time in silence. Especially not when he could spend it laughing with Dega.

“No. Not yet, I want to listen to the rain.”

Papi sighed, “Loui-”

“I said not yet, Papi!” Dega let go of his hand. “I-I’m sorry. I just want to listen. Please,” Dega’s voice breaks and Papillon hates that sound. He looks away from Dega while Dega continues, “The rain will last for a while, I need to get used to it. You understand.”

Dega was right, they did need to get used to it. Dega may think the rain is only bothering him, but Papillon’s muscles are tense and his bones feel cold. “Alright. I’ll make us dinner, you walk around,” he walks to the kitchen and lets out a shaky breath.

 

Papillon has always been infatuated with cooking. He cooked with his parents, he cooked sometimes in the Navy, he helped Dega cook while they were on Devil’s Island, and he cooks now. Dega doesn’t trust himself around knives, so cooking is when Papillon gets his alone time. He gets the kitchen to himself while Dega usually makes the table and hums some sort of tune.

It’s nice having this; a new life with Dega. They’re away from theft and embezzlement. Well, embezzlement. Papi still steals small things here and there for Dega, but always tells him he bought the things. Dega probably knows he stole them, but never says anything and Papillon is thankful for that.

Papillon held onto sanity in those many years by holding onto Dega. Most of the time it was Dega in a mime getup. Probably because it had to be silent the entire time, and he hadn’t heard Dega’s voice in so long. Mime Dega played rock, paper, scissors with him, did pull ups and push-ups with him, he even danced around the cell for Papillon. The real Dega does that stuff too, real Dega is better though. Papillon can actually hear his voice, and his voice is music to Pap’s ears. He could listen to Dega talk all day, about anything. Sometimes Dega will talk about the things he saw for his job in his past life, Papillon wouldn’t understand any of it, but he would listen. He always listens.

When he saw Dega again for the first time after leaving his second term of isolation, it was like his soul wept when he heard Dega’s voice. It was like his bones vibrated with Dega’s voice, they still do. It’s one of Papillon’s favourite feelings and sounds.

Papillon is lost in thought when he feels a weight on his shoulder, breathing on his neck, and a hand on his waist. His stomach flutters, and he smiles warmly.

“Sinatra?” He heard Dega tease.

“Oh you know I hate that, Dega.” Papillon laughs and tries to not lean back into Dega as he drains the boiling pasta into the colander. As far as he knows, Dega is a straight man. He was married to a woman before he was imprisoned, after all. Dega was just very affectionate, and Papi never minded. He would take what he got.

Dega squeezes his waist before walking away and putting a song on that Papi has never heard before. It must have come out when they were locked up.

 

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine._

_You make me happy when skies are grey…_

 

Papillon listens and erupts into laughter, “Oh fuck off, go back to Sinatra, anything, Dega!” He mixes the now drained pasta with his homemade red sauce and makes their plates. He glances over to the table and sees Dega dancing his way over there. That man is something else.

Dega starts talking about their restaurant, an idea Papi had mentioned on their makeshift raft, when they were drifting away from Devil’s Island. He didn’t realize that Dega was actually looking into it...

“It’s only been 16 months, Dega. You can’t even be around knives yet, without shaking. How will we run a restaurant?” Papillon regrets saying that as soon as he says it, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up for something that probably won’t work out. Instead of saying anything else, he shoves pasta into his mouth.

He eyes Dega’s movements, hears him try to make a  joke about what happened, and feels guilty. He knows Dega can’t help it. If anything, Papillon is the one worse off. He has to have some sort of light on at all times, otherwise he feels like the walls are closing in and he’s back in that cell.

“Oh, trust me. There will be plenty of customers and employee’s that will piss you off, Dega.” Papillon looks down at the tattoo on Dega’s forearm. Dega had designed it, and decided he wanted it. Papillon had his butterfly tattoo to remind him of his past life, and now Dega had a dagger on his forearm to remind him of what happened in his past life.

Dega was more brave that he knew, and Papillon was more thankful than he could ever express. Dega had saved his life in more ways than one. Sadly, in one of those ways it meant taking Celier’s life, but Papi would rather him be dead than Dega or himself.

 

Dega makes a comment about Papillon’s PTSD, and he can hear the hurt in the tone. He shouldn’t have said anything about the knives. Dega was already having a bad day, and that just made it worse. Stupid.

“I’m not the only weak one here, Papi-”

 

_SNAP_

Their eyes meet, wide.

_BOOM_

 

The apartment goes pitch black and silent. Papillon rushes to reach out for Dega, and their hands mash together. Dega was reaching out too.

“Louis?”

“Papi!”

 

Papillon tries to hold onto Dega’s hand tightly, anxiety overwhelming him, but he hears Dega’s chair scrape against the floor-

 

_THUD_

 

Dega is on the ground, and he’s murmuring incoherent things. The only thing Papillon can make out from Dega’s murmuring is his own voice.

Papillon panics and stands, walking slowly over to Dega’s limp and shaking body on the floor. The only light coming into the apartment is the lightning through the windows, and that’s not much light. The next time it strikes and lights up the room, Papi can see that Dega’s eyes are wide behind his glasses, and they look terrified. Papillon counts the seconds in his head, these usually last only a few minutes, Dega should snap out of it soon.

Papillon knows not to touch Dega unless he feels like he won’t snap out of it on his own. So, he waits two minutes before he hears

 

_SLAM_

“Shit!”

 

Dega sits up too fast and slams his forehead against the edge of the table, causing the skin to split and start bleeding. Papi watches him put fingers to the wound and lightning strikes again, lighting the room for a few seconds. Dega’s eyes are empty and distant now, he’s back in the flashback.

Papillon feels pure terror fill him when Dega rolls over and vomits. “DEGA!” Papillon begins to shake Dega’s shoulders roughly, he can’t get stuck in the flashback, Papillon won’t be able to get him back. “Dega snap out of it!! Please, Dega.” There’s a lump in his throat and he can feel warm tears trail down his cheeks. Dega needs to be okay, he can’t let Dega get hurt again.

Dega comes back to him, says something but it’s too rough to make out. Papi takes that moment to wipe his tears away and sighs in relief when Dega says, “Papillon, what happened?”

“I don’t know. The lights shut off and you just, you were moving like it wasn’t you,” Papi tries to hide the panic from his voice, but he’s positive Dega can’t make it out anyways. “You were on the floor, then you hit your head, puked, and I helped you sit against the wall. Are you alright? I need to get you some ice for your cut,” Papillon put his fingers gently to the split open welt on Dega’s head. “You might need stitches, Dega.”

Dega goes off rambling about what he was seeing, about killing Celier. Papillon holds Dega’s face and calms him, telling him he will stitch the wound up, and that they’re safe. He helps Dega up and helps him to their shared bedroom.

 

Papillon insisted they sleep in the same room, but they didn’t have to sleep on the same bed. He couldn’t even make it the whole night without needing to be near Dega, so he had woken him up and practically carried Dega to his makeshift bed on the ground. From that point on they slept in the same bed wherever they went. If they had to spend the night away from one another, Papillon just wouldn’t sleep that night. He was afraid he would wake up and be in isolation again, stuck with Mime Dega.

He helps Dega onto the bed and tells him he will be back. Papillon walks away slowly, hands scraping the walls. He made Dega learn the entirety of the apartment for moments like this, and he’s so thankful to his past self. Every now and then the lightning will strike and light Papillon’s path, but other than that he goes off of his muscle memory.

 

The candles should be in the kitchen with the med kit… Might as well grab his favourite whiskey too, it’s going to be a long night and he needs to take the nerves away. His emotions are at an all time high, and he’s sure that they will only continue. Papillon wants nothing more than to hold Dega against his chest until the storm passes, but Dega will most likely need his space, so he will keep his distance until they’re both calm.

Papillon finds everything he needs and stops to take some deep breaths. They’re fine. He’s fine. Dega is fine. They’re in NYC. They’re together on land, free. No one can come get them. No one even knows they’re here. It’ll be fine as soon as the storm ends and it’s daylight. They can make it through this night, Papillon just needs a distraction himself. Maybe Dega will show him some more art, or draw for him. He loves watching Dega draw and loves listening to him talk about the art.

 

He hears Dega call out for him to grab alcohol and he laughs, making his way back to the room. “You read my mind,” he rumbles and climbed onto the bed, setting everything up. He lights the candle and finally takes a drink of the Whiskey. The warmth goes down his throat and he feels more relaxed already. He hands it to Dega and tells him to drink some while he does the stitches. Their fingers brush, and that makes him feel warmer than the whiskey does.

“I much prefer wine, but you’ve turned me onto whiskey,” Dega laughs and Papillon holds back an immature joke. “You’re a good man, Papillon. Still don’t know why you keep me around.”

“No one else can put up with me, that’s why.” That’s not true, well, it’s not the only reason. “Hold still,” he douses the washcloth with whiskey and wipes the blood off of the wound, feeling empathy pain when Dega cringes in pain.

“Is that the only reason?”

Papillon looks into Dega’s eyes, “No, it’s not.” He debates internally whether he says how he feels or if he makes a joke. He doesn’t think now is the best time to confess his feelings, especially if Dega doesn’t reciprocate. It will just make things worse, and they don’t need that right now.

He clears his throat, “I also quite enjoy your art. How can I not? You’re constantly drawing me.” He smiles warmly and nods, “Okay, this is gonna hur-”

“Shit!!” Dega hissed and closed his eyes. Papillon watches him bite his lip and feels Dega’s hand on his knee. The squeeze sends tingles up his leg. He’s going to drink more whiskey. “Don’t make me ugly,” Dega said. “The artist has to look as good as the art, and I’m looking quite worse for wear.”

“I’m an expert at this Dega,” he rolls his eyes. “I stitch all my wounds, and they’re barely visible,” He sticks his tongue out in concentration, a habit of his he just can’t get rid of.

Dega mumbles something Papillon can’t entirely makeout, partially because it was quiet, but mainly because Dega’s rubbing Papillon’s knee and it’s distracting.

Dega starts to apologize for things he’s apologized about many, many times. “Shh, Louis.” Papillon hates when Dega apologizes, yes part of him is angry Dega didn’t obey the guard, but now that he’s gotten to know him he knows that Dega just shuts down and he can’t control it. He finishes the stitches, “There. All done, and I must say it’s my best work.” Papillon grins at him, trying to lighten the mood, if that’s possible.

His eyes watch intently as Dega drinks more whiskey and a drop hangs from his bottom lip. Dega’s tongue darts out and he he runs a hand through his curls. Papillon wants nothing more than for that to be his hand, and for that to be his-

Dega giggles and Papi grabs the bottle, “Woah there, you’re already getting a bit buzzed. Save some for me, this is my favourite. Glenlivet.” He chugs some, willing the alcohol to take effect sooner. “It took a lot to steal this,” those words slip out when he didn’t mean them too. Guess the willing worked, his tongue feels more loose.

They tease back and forth while Papillon moves and relaxes against the headboard with Dega. He asks him if he’s drawn today, Dega says no. “You haven’t shown me any pieces in a while. I’d love to see,” Papi looks at him, admiring Dega’s features in the dim, warm candle light.

Dega’s skin is already quite warm, but the candle light just makes it even more so. Papillon finds Dega beautiful, it seems like Dega is always smiling even when he’s really not. The color of his eyes are hard to make out, Papillon can never tell if they’re blue, green, or maybe just a grey. They often change based on what colors are around Dega. Sometimes when Dega is wearing this purple shirt, that Papillon loves, and it makes Dega’s eyes have a hint of purple in them. It makes the rest of his features pop out. God, He’s starting to sound like Dega when he describes things.

Dega agrees to show him some and he goes over to his desk to get some drawings. Buzzed Papillon can’t help but ogle at Dega’s body. Even though he had a permanently damaged leg, he still managed to stay in shape. Papillon couldn’t care less if Dega was in shape or not. He could have no legs and Papillon would still think he’s the most beautiful thing.

This is going to be a long night.


	4. Drunkenly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are they drunk on the whiskey? Or drunk on each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing explicit actually happens.

There’s tension in the air and Dega isn’t sure if he’s the only one who’s feeling it. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s slightlyyyy drunk, or maybe it’s actually there. Either way, the walk back to the bed feels like it takes a year. It’s just art, it’s not a heart on a silver platter... right?

He sits on the bed, in front of Papillon. He sets the folders down and his artist’s journal. “I have my new ones and some old ones. What ones do you want to see first?” Dega licks his lips, they suddenly feel dry. He wants more whiskey, but Papillon is holding it.

“Old ones first,” Papillon says and tilts his head to his shoulder, watching Dega sift through the papers. “Might as well see them now while everything is fresh, right?”

Dega tries to not look at Papi. He looks so soft and relaxed. They both must be tipsy, Dega decides. “Alright,” he smiles softly, and grabs his least favourite one. “I don’t really like this one, I must admit. I don’t think I captured the scene well enough,” Dega looks up at Papillon shyly, handing him over the paper.

 

The drawing was a sketched scene of the prison. There were prisoners digging in the foreground, prisoners pushing carts of rubble in the background. There were a few bodies on the ground, Papi couldn’t tell if they were relaxing or sleeping. But maybe that’s the point. He looked over to the right corner and it was Papillon leaning on a shovel that was in the ground, a hand wiping sweat from his forehead.

 

Papi looks up at Dega who was fiddling with the rest of the papers, “Is that me?” He asks.

“Yes, you did say earlier all I do is draw you. You were the only thing I had there, so…” Dega smiled gently. He loves seeing Papillon’s reactions to drawings of himself. Dega hopes that Papi knows how handsome and breathtaking he is. His eyes, his jawline, his lips, his nose, his-

Papillon interrupts his thoughts with a deep hum and nods, “I like it. It’s not your best, but you weren't exactly in the best of circumstances, were you?”

“No. We weren't.” Dega grabs another one, “I like this one. It’s a bit better. Simple.”

 

The drawing was a figure of one of the guards. They were shouting at nothing. It was just the guard shouting, but you can see the tension and anger in their face. It brings back memories to both Dega and Papillon.

 

“Dega, this is amazing. You capture emotions so well… I can’t even draw a circle, let alone a face with emotion,” Papillon laughs fondly and meets eyes with Dega.

Dega grins, “Thank you, Papi. I am much better now, but that one is good.” He knows he’s a good artist, artists act humble but that’s only because they don’t want people to feel bad for not being able to draw. The truth is, is that anyone can create art, you just have to find your medium and style. That part can take a while, but you just need inspiration. Prison and Papillon are Dega’s inspirations, his muses.

“Now show me a really good one, please.” Papillon takes another drink of the whiskey and hands it over to Dega.

Dega took a long drink, the bottle was practically gone, and he was definitely feeling it. “Alright… let me look,” he bites his lip and hums as he looks through the folder. His breath hitches and his face falls, “This is one of the better ones. But…” He just hands it over to Papillon and lets the painting speak for itself.

 

It’s painted with what is obviously blood. It’s Papillon’s face in fear. It’s the last expression Dega saw of Papillon before he was taken to isolation the first time.

The blood is still a dark red in some areas, but in most it’s now a brownish red. Papillons eyes hold more emotion in them then the rest of the painting. His face is stoic, but you can still tell how he is feeling.

It forces memories of isolation, darkness, pain, hunger, and fear into Papi’s mind. Dega can’t bring himself to look at Papillon’s face while he looks at the painting.

“Is this from…” Papi’s voice falters.

Dega nods, “My back, yes. My wounds brought you more pain than I will EVER feel, than I can ever IMAGINE.” He still can’t look at Papi, “I’m sorry. I should have moved. I should have carried his body. I should have obeyed… I got you put into isolation for being a fucking idiot. I thought you died, I thought they shot you. I hated- HATE myself for it.” Dega let out a dark laugh, his back was hurting so he hunched forwards a bit.

“Take it off,” Papillon growls. “Louis, take your fucking shirt off,” Papillon grabs the papers from Dega and moves them and the rest to the bedside table. “Now.”

Dega looks up at him surprised, his heart is racing and his skin feels hot. “Wh-” Furrowing his eyebrows, he complies, slipping his shirt off over his head. He looks at Papillon confused and feeling bare. “Why am I doing this, Papillon?”

Papillon huffs and helps him turn around on the bed. He brings the candle closer and Dega feels nauseous. He hasn’t let Papillon see the scars from his whipping, in a LONG time.

Dega holds in a shiver and closes his eyes as Papillon traces his fingertips gently over each of the scars. They’re raised and rough, never properly healed. Dega feels like he can’t breathe, that if he does it will ruin the moment.

What is papillon doing? Why? What good does looking at his hideous scars do?

Dega feels a lump form in his throat, “Papillon, what are you doing?” He asks firmly.

Papillon closes his eyes and presses his lips ever so lightly onto one of Dega’s scars. Both of their hearts are pounding.

 

_Boom BOOM_

_Boom BOOM_

_Boom BOOM_

_Boom BOOM_

_Boom_

_BOOM_

 

Papillon puts his hands on Dega’s hips and continues to press gentle kisses to each scar. “I forgive you,” Papillon gasps out, a weight is lifted off of his chest. He has heard Dega apologize time and time again, but has never verbally forgave him. “I forgive you, Louis. I forgive you,” Hot tears from his eyes fall on Dega’s back, forcing a whimper out of Dega’s mouth.

“Henri.” Dega turns and takes Papillon’s face into his hands. He has never called Papillon by his first name. He’s only heard Papillon say it a few times and Dega knows that Papillon takes names seriously.

Papillon’s tear filled eyes meet Dega’s. They both lean forward and their lips meet lazily. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the emotions exhausting them, but they take their time.

 

Dega’s hands go to Papillon’s neck and chest. Papillon’s hands go to the back of Dega’s head and one on his hip. They take their time drinking in each other’s warmth. Their lips seem to fit perfectly but oddly, their breathing is matched, and Dega wouldn’t be shocked if their hearts were too.

Papillon pulls him closer and tilts his head. His pulls back briefly, “Louis,” he murmurs against Dega’s lips before kissing him slowly.

Their faces are warm and wet from their tears mixing together. Each movement of their lips is like a thousand words spilling from their hearts and souls. All the unspoken words between them during all those years together. The stolen glances, the brief touches, the dreams, the dances, the songs.

The storm outside is raging harder than ever, but they can’t tell, they’re too caught up in each other’s taste and smell. When their lips met it was like a sixth sense was unlocked and they could hear each other’s souls pleading to be loved.

They pull away and stay silent. Dega pulls the shirt off of Papillon’s torso. He traces his fingers and palms over every inch of skin, drinking in the feeling. He traces over the tattoos and scars, taking extra time on the scars. Each one has a story, Dega has heard most but he craves to hear the rest. His eyes drag across every inch and memorizes how he looks. He will learn Papillon’s body just like he learned every inch of the apartment. Dega will know how to navigate Papillon’s body in the pitch dark before he knows how to navigate it in the light. He will know Papillon’s body better than Papillon knows his body. He is an artist, and he will learn to create art and music with his lover’s body.

Papillon sits there, eyes close, lips parted, soaking in the attention and focus of Dega. He knows how Dega works with something he’s infatuated with, and it brings him bliss to know that Dega is learning and working him. “Louis?”

“Mm”

“My turn.”

“Mm” and a nod.

Papillon turns them and pushed Dega down into the bed, taking off Dega's glasses. He then leans over and blows out the candle. “You saved me in the complete dark, so I’m going to make it up to you, and love you in the complete dark. Then in the morning we can learn each other in the light. Sound fair?” He kissed him, lips melting and moving together.

“Sounds very fair, mon amour,” Dega grinned.


	5. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning arrives and so does the rest of their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end!! I hope you enjoyed.... Critiques, comments, thoughts, etc. all VERY welcome!!

Dega wakes up with a drooling Papillon next to him. Papillon’s hair is a mess, there’s marks and some scratches on his body and Dega flushes but smiles. He reaches over and grabs his glasses, artist’s journal, and pencils. He leans back against the headboard and sits there, admiring his man in the morning light spilling through the windows.

They slept the entire night without light, through a thunderstorm. Neither of them woke up with nightmares, neither of them toss and turned. Other than before they went to bed.

Dega chuckles quietly at his own immaturity. He never had a proper childhood. His dad had always been drunk and beat him. But, his life with Papillon often left him feeling like a child. Happy and bubbly, even when things weren't the best.

 

He opens the journal and begins to sketch Papillon, hair a mess, drool spilling from his mouth onto the pillow, marks and all. He smiles the whole time, his cheeks hurt, but nothing else did. Dega was drunk on bliss and love and he doesn’t ever want to sober up.

“Dega,” grumbles Papillon. “What are you doing? It’s too early. Come back down here,” Papillon opens his eyes, looking up at his lover with hooded eyes. “I can’t kiss you when you’re up there, you idiot.” He smiles sleepily and feels himself fall deeper in love with Dega. 

Dega’s curls are an absolute mess, the sheets are pooled at his lap, and his glasses are crooked. The same cracked glasses Dega has had since they met. Papillon finds himself thinking that Dega has never looked for beautiful than right now.

“I guess that is a problem, isn’t it?” Dega purrs and sets his journal on the side table. He slides down and lays next to Papillon, letting himself be pulled in for a slow and sweet morning kiss.

When Dega opens his eyes, the bed is in the ocean. This time the ocean is calm, the sky is clear, and the butterflies are calmly landing on the headboard.

“Good morning,” Papillon sighs happily.

“Good morning,” Dega murmurs with a smile.

“Breakfast?” Papi asks.

Dega hums in fake thought, “Yes, but first I think you promised me something for this morning?”

“Did I?”

“Oh, you most definitely did.”

Their laughter tangles together as their bodies do, signifying the start of the rest of their lives.


End file.
